Tex Avery
by cornwallace
Summary: I feel like something is horribly wrong but I don't know what.


Glass falling all around us, I look up just in time for Elmer to aim the double barrel shotgun right at my head. He thumbs the hammer back, his tongue hanging out of his dopey mouth and his one eye closing as he pulls the trigger and I quickly duck behind the seat again, shards of what remains of the window raining down on my head and back.  
I peek out from behind my forearm and over at Bugs. Poor fucker. Wheezing and gurgling, struggling to breathe. His wide open eyes filling with blood.  
His expression pleading.

"Sorry, old friend," I say, reaching into my jacket and unholstering my pistol.

He tries to speak, but his response is nothing more than bloody coughing – sputtering.  
Jam the barrel of the gun into his temple and his brains leap out the window in a deafening flash.

Elmer is reloading his weapon.

Struggle with the door handle as I push his dead weight against the door, causing his useless, broken frame to tumble out onto the ground lifelessly as I use him to push the door ajar.  
I don't even bother closing it.

Head spinning.  
Turn the key. Nothing.  
The snap of his barrels in place.  
Put the fucker in park. Engine whines and kicks as I turn the key again. Smoke billowing out of the screaming engine, crawling out from under the hood and escaping into the azure sky.

The clicking of the hammer.

Come on, baby. Just one more time.

"Huhuhuhuhuhuhuh," he chuckles, approaching the driver's side of the door. "Looks like it's officially duck season."

And the engine kicks on and

* * *

Tex Avery

* * *

"All I'm saying is that Chuck Jones ruined it," I say.  
He isn't listening.

"Chuck Jones ruined what?"

"Me. My character. It wasn't you with that goddamn brush, it was him with that goddamn brush. It was Chuck Jones taking out his impudence on me and pretending to be god."

"Please," he says, glancing at me, then back at the road. He knows what I mean, but he's humoring me. "Enlighten me, what is god?"

"God is a math equation and that's another discussion for another time."

"Sure," he says, laughing. "How did he ruin you? Your 'character.'"

"He made me an unlikeable whipping boy," I say. "YOUR unlikeable whipping boy."

"When you think about it, we're all sorta unlikeable," he says, looking forward. "None of us have any sympathy, so none of us have any sympathetic qualities. We're really all just a bunch of assholes. You've always been unlikeable."

"There's a difference between unlikeable and victorious and an unlikeable whipping boy."

"Fair."

"What about that new show?"

"The Looney Tunes Show?"

"Yeah. I haven't watched it yet, but from what I can gather, we have more likeable characteristics. I've even heard about you and I sharing a couple of 'moments.'"

"That doesn't count," he says, adjusting his tie. "That's bad fanfiction."

"It's been fanfiction for years, Bugs. Tex Avery fanfiction."

"Yeah, but it hasn't always been that bad. That's bad fanfiction, Daffy."

"So was the work Chuck Jones did. Fuck that guy."

"Was for you," he snickers.

"Well, what do you call this then?"

"That's too meta. Even for me."

"My point being, when I was created, I was like you, only more insane and I had a different approach to fucking with people. We both fucked with people, that was our thing. Then Chuck Dickhead Jones came along and decided that I was a lesser version of you and that we should get together, and instead of working against people like Fudd in new and creative and fun ways, it became me vs. you vs. Fudd, with you in the middle being untouchable, and me being a petty numbskull who can't keep track of his own goddamn argument."

"Wabbit season," he says, sneering.

"Yeah, exactly. They sacrificed everything that made my character me to make you look better, which, okay, it's fair enough that you're the mascot, but with a little more creative effort, we could have made a very interesting and awesome team, and nothing would have been lost or changed or compromised."

"Basically, you're saying that Tex Avery turned you into a complete douche bag that never wins."

"Pretty much. I understand that we're all unlikeable, and people's favorite characters within our fandom are almost always based solely on 'pick your favorite animal,' but fuck. Where's my revenge? Where's my redemption? Where's my goddamn brush episode?"

"Maybe this is it."

"You wouldn't be my victim," I say. "Chuck Jones would."

"I know," he says.

Lean back in my seat and look out the window as the trees pass us by.

"How much longer we got?"

"About two minutes," he says.

"Foghorn Leghorn, eh?"

"That's the rooster."

"Just him?"

"Miss Prissy is at work," he says.

"Miss Prissy?"

"His wife. She won't be there. His step son Egghead Jr, however, just might."

"And if he is?"

"Well, I'll worry about that, Daffy m'boy! You just take car of old Foghorn Leghorn."

"And just what do we expect to learn from him?" I ask, reaching into my jacket and drawing my weapon. I pull the lever and check the cylinder. Loaded. .357, eight rounds. Gently guide the cylinder back as it clicks into place.

"Nothing we don't already know," Bugs Bunny replies from the corner of his mouth.

"Why bother?"

He takes his eyes off the road momentarily to wink at me. 

* * *

The kid's bouncing a kickball awkwardly with the open and stretched palm of his hand as we pull up to the old, rickety country house. He pays no mind to us as the vehicle rolls up. We come to a stop just a few feet short of him. I look over at Bugs and he's already looking back at me. He nods, I mirror. We take off our seatbelts and open the doors, stepping out simultaneously. The car doors slam in unison. The kid's ball bounces at an angle and out of his reach as we approach. We stop just short of him.

"Your dad home?" Bugs asks.

"He aint my dad," the kid says, drawing up snot and hawking it.

"He in there?"

Kid nods. "Yeah, he in there."

Bugs reaches in his jacket pocket. For a second there, I think he's going for his gun, but he pulls out a twenty instead, leans down and hands it to the kid.

"We're gonna talk to your not-dad. You make yourself scarce for a bit, eh doc?"

The kid nods and scampers past us. Bugs stands up straight and looks over at me, smiling.

"La la loo da dee dee do. Do dah. Do dah. Da da dum dum dee dee do. Oh, do dah day."


End file.
